Purgatory
by L9-Aren
Summary: Why doesn't Captain Anderson get some love, too? Anderson's life after he gives up the Normandy and his straining relationship with Udina. Ch 2: Anderson meets a germophobic!
1. Goodbyes

_This is something I wrote to pass the time at my dad's work today. Apologies if it seems incomplete, but I thought it was an interesting idea._

_Command: Review, or I shall find you through Google, who knows all. *mysterious voice*_

_-ArenKae_

_--_

Anderson couldn't help the shiver of disgust—of himself, of politics, of his whole damned career. He'd stood by stoically as he watched his career, his _life_, unravel before his eyes like a damaged tapestry, taken down by the ferocious backroom politics that took place even in light of some of the best news humanity had ever known: humans finally had a Spectre, and he was abandoned, hung out to dry shuffling papers until… until things cooled down.

He cast another appreciative glance alongside the streamlined hull of the _Normandy_, wishing now more than ever that he had the guts to face his old crew and tell them _exactly_ what happened. But no, he was a coward—their notice would come soon, and they were smart enough to read between the lines. No, talking to them would do nothing but satisfy an old man's good dream that was gradually coming to an end.

_Shuffling papers… 'assistant advisor on military matters…' _He thought savagely.

It was made all the worse because _he understood._ He _knew why_ Udina had to do it. It was only logical: Commander Shepard was proving to be better for humanity's chances of expansion than he himself would ever be. He'd had his chance, and Saren had damned near screwed his chances for just about _any_ more advancement in his career—even now, twenty years later, he'd taken it away from him.

This was crossing the line. Saren had to be stopped. From the moment Udina hinted that Anderson might have to resign his post, Anderson knew he was capable of wanton murder.

He'd taken a short leave of absence, walking around the Wards and hanging out in Flux to get his head around it, and then he'd been called back by the ambassador to learn that Shepard had assaulted Chora's Den in an all-out firefight. He'd been there to watch the quarian, Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, give evidence proving Saren's guilt, and he was there to watch Shepard become a Spectre.

And now he was here, at the docks with Udina, waiting for Shepard to come up that elevator and remove him thoroughly from the life he had once led.

He held back a sigh—Udina knew he was frustrated, but it wouldn't do to advertise it. It wasn't _Shepard's_ fault, and it wasn't Udina's, no matter how much he despised the man on profession alone.

Shepard wasn't like Udina, though—she knew what needed to be done and held enough of the right traits to do it. He liked her a lot on a professional level, doubly so on a personal one—she was smart, resourceful, and, when you got past the tough mental barriers she'd surrounded herself with, a pleasant woman to deal with. She didn't have much patience with regs or procedure (a main reason, she'd said, that she never joined any legalized form of law enforcement) and she'd had her own share of tough battles in the past. He wouldn't have minded serving under her.

Udina's beeper rang. He glanced at it and nodded. "She's on her way up," Udina reported. Anderson wondered who he bribed this time to get an advance notice. He gave Anderson a pointed look, as if he knew he was thinking just that. "Don't make this harder than this needs to be, Anderson," he warned.

"I have no intention of doing that, Ambassador," Anderson replied stiffly. Through the corner of his eye, he saw the elevator that brought them to Docking Bay 322 disappear. _But if you keep reminding me I just might._

They spoke no more, but Udina kept staring at him, proving to his own convoluted ego that he was, in his mind, the _big dog._ He didn't want Anderson to forget it. He met his gaze head-on, keeping himself relaxed and his back ramrod straight. "Was there something more?" he hedged, allowing a bit of his frustration to break through.

"Your attitude," Udina said shortly. "Lose it. This is beyond our control."

_Beyond mine, you mean._

He didn't really know what it really _was_ he had against Udina besides the fact that his very personality was the type to curdle milk. Maybe it was the general air of wrongness that hung around him like a cloud, or his scent; he'd tried hard, real hard, not to smell any of the politicians he worked with, but it was hard, very hard, not to notice the sharp, bitter odor that came out of his mouth and threatened to choke you when you breathed it in.

He'd made it a priority not to get too close to him after the first time.

Before he could respond, he heard steps on the docking bay flooring. Ashton Shepard, flanked by Tali and the krogan Wrex, approached them. She had her face carefully smoothed over, reacting to the stress she could invariably see in his shoulders.

_Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Anderson._

He relaxed his shoulders and tried to mirror her expression; the worry-crease between her eyebrows deepened—obviously, she wasn't going to fall for it. Good. He hadn't meant for her to. "We have some news for you, Commander," Udina said, using his Politician's Voice and Politician's Look. "Captain Anderson has offered to step down as commanding officer of the _Normandy._"

"It's quick and quiet, and it'll get you just about anywhere," Anderson explained. "You know the crew, too, and they'll follow you through to the end."

"I don't understand," she said quietly. The impassive mask slipped, and he could see that she knew all too well what had happened. "Captain Anderson, are you coming with us?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Commander," Anderson said, throwing a covert glance at Udina. "Joint commands never work out—I'd be better on the ground for now."

Real anger, now, as much as she was willing to show. "I don't have a problem with your leadership."

Udina saved him from answering: "Anderson has consented to stay on as my personal advisor."

Shepard blinked for a moment, then nodded. "If that's what's best for the Alliance," she said slowly, trying to get a gauge for how Anderson felt on the matter. He nodded soberly. "Don't bog him down too much with the paperwork, Ambassador, or else he'll get fidgety."

Anderson felt the ice in him thaw, just a little bit. "I haven't been straight-up with you, Ashton," he said bluntly. "I was in your shoes about twenty years ago. They were considering me for the Spectres."

A usual example of Ashton Shepard stressing herself out was the sudden acceleration of blinks. He counted four. "And Saren happened." She said it as fact, not a question.

"They sent him to evaluate me," he said quietly, "and then did everything in his power to make sure that I was screwed in the end."

"That was back when Goyle was our ambassador, wasn't it?" she asked, brushing back a reddish-gold hair from her forehead and tucking it securely into her ponytail. Her eyes, a soft pleasing blue, were tight around the edges.

Anderson nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Basically."

There was a pregnant pause while Shepard looked away from them and from the _Normandy,_ staring out into space. "I don't blame you for keeping that hidden, David," she said, surprising him. She glanced back at him. "Need to know basis."

He could only nod, relieved—and a little grateful—that she hadn't held it against him. On the _Normandy_ and the ships before that, she'd been his closest confidant; he could remember a time, only hours before teaming with Saren, of having the same betrayed feelings from a withhold of information from a woman he trusted with his life. _She called me David, too,_ he remembered.

He'd never taken on another girlfriend after his divorce all those years ago—it wasn't that any woman didn't hold attraction for him, but that his career _was_ his wife and family. Wouldn't she be laughing now if she could see his situation? Shepard wasn't, thank God, but she _understood_ better than his ex-wife had.

More times than not he'd been thinking lately that military women were both a blessing and a curse in his life—they understood him exactly, but that didn't stop the brass from moving them away from each other. He'd gotten close to two women, never on a real relationship level, and had drifted away from both just because of posting duty. It was damn hard to make anything work in the navy. Damn hard.

_Yeah. She's probably laughing her ass off right now._

Udina was filling Shepard in on the specific mission details. Anderson kept track with the names: Liara T'Soni, geth, Feros, Artimis Tau regions, Noveria, Matriarch Benezia. All leads that had been cross-checked, triple-checked, and verified by a salarian STG slicer on loan from the Council member of the same species.

"If we kidnap the daughter, the asari shouldn't be a problem," the krogan, Wrex, rumbled. "Assuming she isn't like every other sadistic bastard out there."

"We need to decide quickly," Tali said soberly. "We're only running out of time."

"I need to get ready for a meeting with Binary Helix," Udina said, glancing at his watch. "Commander, don't make this hard on me."

"Have I ever?" she shot back.

The ambassador got right up close to her, and Anderson felt a ping of guilt when he noticed her nose wrinkle just the tiniest bit. "Just remember, Shepard, you were a human long before you were a Spectre. Anderson… you know the drill."

_Meet me in my office later._ Anderson could only glower at his departing back.

"Wrex, Tali, go ahead inside. Find Kaiden or Ashley," Shepard said, gesturing to the airlock. "This will only take a moment."

"Of course," Tali said, moving with unnerving grace for the sanitization chambers. Wrex merely grunted and followed.

Shepard sighed audibly when they passed through and took off her armored gloves. She and Anderson wandered over to the railings, watching the traffic. "I didn't imagine that this would be this difficult."

"Which part?" he asked.

"Leaving you out to dry with Udina."

His eyebrows rose. "You knew?"

"I knew he was planning something. He's _always_ planning something."

Anderson sighed. "Yeah… I guess I knew it, too."

"It's not your fault," Shepard said sternly, looking over at him. "Look, it's just… a bad day. Once it's over, you'll be back. You'll have the most advanced warship in the fleet again."

"This entire mission makes me jumpy, Shepard," he said quietly. "I don't want to see you get hurt out there."

Shepard only snorted. "David, I'm more concerned about _other people_ getting hurt in the process. If you haven't noticed, I can drill a moving target at four-hundred meters without a sweat."

"You also have the annoying knack to find trouble," he said dryly.

There was a long pause, where they just stared out into space and enjoyed in each other's company. "You worry about yourself," she said finally. "I can take care of things."

"I know you can," he said. "I suppose I'm just being overprotective of my crew members."

"Your girl's all grown up now, Captain," she said lightly, a smile stretching the burn-scar tight across her cheek. She turned to him, and he knew it was time for her to go. He was unashamed to hug her tight for a moment—it felt so different when she was the one wearing the armor this time—and even more unashamed when she patted his back and gave him an awkward kiss on the cheek. The place where her lips touched his bare skin burned pleasantly.

"Keep in touch," he said, refusing to say the goodbye that was on his lips.

"I'll be back," she promised. She gripped his arm tightly for a few quick seconds, gave him a rueful look, and turned on her heel.

She didn't look back, not once, and he forced himself to look away when the _Normandy's_ engines lifted it away from the docking clamps. He closed his eyes and just stood there.

The last line of his old life had been cut, at least temporarily. Now it was just him, him and Udina.

He intended to make the best of it. The _Normandy_ was in good hands.


	2. Germophobic

Anderson didn't like the embassies much since Goyle resigned. It was too… _sanitary._ It hurt his eyes to look at the pristine while halls, and the mix of smells near the human embassy (he was blaming the elcor for that one) was enough to make him wrinkle his nose. It wasn't even really _that_, though—all the ambassadors had in their embassies was a private office with whatever they decided to bring in. There were no family pictures, no redecorating, nothing that made it feel like hope for humanity in the slightest. The elcor and volus, who shared an embassy, at least had some fauna growing in the corner.

He'd been glad that he hadn't had to come into the ambassador's office much in the past other than that stint twenty years ago and some check-ups in-between, but it looked like he'd be seeing them more… a lot more.

He was in too much of a bad mood to return the asari receptionists' greetings with nothing more than a curt nod. He'd liked the last one better.

He wondered what Udina would have him doing today. Paperwork, definitely, probably ask him to take notes… Anderson was trying very, very hard not to let his thoughts wander down that path of self-depression, and tried to look at the positive things.

Shepard had a ship he could trust to help her in every way possible. The crew was able, and they were undying in their loyalty to the survivor of Akuze. He focused his thoughts on Joker, wondering what he said when he learned what had happened to his old buddy David Anderson.

Anderson had to suppress a grim smile, imagining all too well the blue streak that would be coming out of Joker's mouth for the next few days regardless if Shepard was his CO or not.

He was halfway to the human embassy when his pager beeped. He stopped and looked down at it. He sighed. Udina, asking where the hell he was.

He didn't answer, and kept on walking. Udina would see him soon enough. Nonetheless, he took a deep breath anyway before entering his own personal purgatory.

--

Krogans were lying savages, loyal to nobody and congenitally violent. They'd steal anything that wasn't nailed down; they'd kill for a bet.

That was what a lot of people thought about krogans, and Anderson could tell Udina was now relying on their thuggish stereotype to get a feel for their mental state. The last thing he wanted to do was look like a weak target in font of a hulking mass of prehistoric dinosaur. It always made negotiations with their particular species harder.

This wasn't even the negotiator. This was the friggin' _bodyguard._ No wonder Udina wanted Anderson to sit in.

The so-called 'product divisionary specialist' either liked to make an impression or was genuinely concerned for his own life. Anderson watched him—pale, slim, with a nervous air about him—and deducted that it was the latter. His krogan bodyguard, unarmed and checked by the strictest measures C-Sec could legally perform, lumbered behind him, silent and threatening. Anderson hadn't been able to catch the rep's name in the preceding comments—Harold or something to that nature—and hadn't been introduced. He was sure they were going to get to it soon.

They were clustered around one of the many meeting tables in the embassies, monitored by C-Sec of course. Anderson could see the cameras, cleverly placed to appear slightly hidden, but he knew for a fact there were at least fifteen in each room; he'd only counted seven so far.

As soon as the rep set his briefcase on the table, the particulars began. "This is Captain David Anderson," Udina said, sliding into his seat. "He's consented to consult me on the military aspects of our meeting. Captain, this is Jerold Nenilin. He's been BH's representative for the Alliance military for the past three years."

Anderson leaned over to shake his hand. "Very nice to meet you, sir."

Nenilin didn't take his hand, giving it an incredulous look before fixing a somewhat pleasant expression on his face. "Thank you."

A little put-off, Anderson resumed his seat. Udina gave him a meaningful look, and Anderson decided that hand-shakes were a no in Politician World. _You forgot to brief me about that one, sir…_

"So, on to business," Udina said, shuffling some papers he'd brought into the room to order. Anderson noticed that they were typed in a slightly larger font—did the ambassador have eye problems? "The recent shipments of zero-gravity implants have decreased in varying percents of takes to the harsh environment. More muscle degeneracy, fatigue, nausea, vomiting, you understand. Has BH been running into any problems that we should know about?"

Nenilin had obviously known that would come up some time. His answer came a bit too easily for Anderson's liking. "As with all genetic products, none are actually custom-tailored to a man's nervous and circulatory system. We at BH are constantly improving that all the time, making upgrades, improvements, and testing them out. Our most recent shipment was a miscommunication error between varying parties on our sides, and the record of our apology and promises for recompense are in the file I sent you before I landed."

"Yes," Udina said. "Yes, I noticed. What form of recompense do you suggest, Mister Nenilin?"

"Monetary fines, of course."

"A refund."

Nenlinin bowed his head. "Yes, sir. The credits will be transferred to the account we have on record, unless you wish to order a new supply. I will assure you now that the parties responsible for this miscommunication have been properly punished."

"Fired, you mean."

Nenilin was reminding Anderson of a bobble-head. "Yes, sir."

Anderson heard something vibrate in Udina's pocket. He glanced at the beeper and stood up. "Excuse me, please," he said, taking out his communicator. He left the room, giving Anderson a warning look as he passed.

Figuring he should at least make an effort to help Udina out, Anderson tried to break the ice. "So how are things, sir?" he asked.

Nenilin started at the sound of his voice. "The company is fine," he said, albeit tersely. "We're really working hard to get those shipments underway."

_Odd response,_ Anderson noted. "I didn't mean to imply that you weren't, sir," he said carefully.

Nenilin nodded stiffly, and stared at the wall. Anderson, at a loss for things to say, leaned back in his chair and waited for Udina to get back. There was a drink machine in the corner of the room, and he was thirsty. "Well," he said, standing up, "I think I'm going to get a drink. Can I get you anything?"

Nenilin shook his head. "Nothing, thank you." The krogan coughed pointedly. Anderson wondered for a moment if krogans _could_ digest the high-sugar drinks in the machine, but it seemed to have a different response for Nenilin. The sales rep grimaced a little and said, "I suppose I'll have some Coke—no, I can get it, you don't have to pay for it."

The little man got out of his chair and followed Anderson to the machine. Anderson got his drink and went to resume his seat at the table—until he saw what Nenilin was doing: that little man had taken a sanitation wipe from who-knows-where and was meticulously wiping every button on the pad. He slid his cred card into the machine, wiped it like he was scrubbing it for surgery, and pressed the button. A Coke slid into the tray, and he wiped _that_ off, too, before opening it and taking a small, measured sip—even then he grimaced, like that one sip caused him pain.

The krogan caught Anderson's incredulous eyes and rolled his own in a characteristic human gesture. His eyes said, _this is what I have to put up with._

Anderson sat down at the table before Nenilin could acknowledge that he was being watched, and carefully averted his eyes.

Well, at least it explained the no-handshake policy.

"So," Anderson said slowly, gauging the young man's reaction, "Nenilin's an interesting name. Jerold almost seems French, but…"

"My business here is not my name," he said, taking another, measured sip. He sat down and let it sit next to him, forgotten. Anderson was surprised he wasn't swabbing the seat, but he realized for the first time that the young man hadn't touched anything since he'd arrived.

_Germophobic. _Anderson had crawled through piss, shit, and mud in the N7 advanced training, and this guy was afraid of the germs he'd get from touching a _keypad._ Now he finally understood why Udina chose a meeting room so far away from the elcor—the poor man would probably have a panic attack once he inhaled those hormones.

"I don't care," the krogan said. "My name's Flinn."

Anderson tried not to blink, and forced an interested smile on his face that didn't seem _too_ confused. A friendly krogan and an antisocial human in the same room. Life was _really_ weird. "Nice to meet you, Flinn."

"So, a Captain, eh?" Flinn nodded his huge head. "Yeah, I've heard about you. David Anderson."

Anderson felt his eyes tighten by a few more degrees. "Oh?" he asked, trying to keep the pit of ice in his stomach from spreading. "How is that?"

"You killed Skarr," he said matter-of-factly. "That earned you bonus points with most of our kind, human."

The memory of the old krogan battlemaster was still fresh in his mind. And _he_ hadn't killed him—that was Kahlee Sanders. He wondered how the krogans had found that out, then remembered another lesson a salarian hacker had told him a long time ago: _Your species is still a newcomer to the galaxy. _Krogans must've had their own hackers, then, but he bet they didn't know the real story. The one in Alliance files had been encrypted with the Council's personal frequency to deter any would-be hackers.

"It had to be done," Anderson said, knowing a simple _thanks for saying that_ would drop him a few of those bonus points. Krogans respected a little swagger. "Why don't the krogans like Skarr?"

"He made a mockery out of our species," Flinn said quietly. "We would have taken care of him if you hadn't gotten to him first."

Anderson frowned. "How did he--?"

The door slid open, revealing Udina. He took stock of the room in a few sweeps of the eyes as he moved closer to the table. "You'll have to excuse my interruption. I forgot to turn off my pager."

Nenilin took another painful sip of his Coke before answering. "Now, getting back to our previous discussion…"

All through the meeting, Anderson watched both Flinn and Nenilin, offering his own opinion whenever Udina called for it but stayed remotely silent. Nenilin was, he had to admit, fascinating to watch. Not only was he a germophobic, but he seemed genuinely paranoid about talking about anything other than work. How scared a man do you have to be to treat every personal question like an interrogation?

As far as he could tell, Udina hadn't gotten anything done except for the first few presets of their meeting. The rest was a bunch of political BS that was probably in place to make him look good. Two hours of it. In those two hours, Nenilin managed to sip down maybe an eighth of his drink, and only at the krogan's urging. Anderson revised his idea of Flinn—he wasn't just a bodyguard, he was the man's caretaker. Without him, he'd probably die of dehydration or starvation.

_Adams would love to see this,_ he thought, thinking of the engineer on the _Normandy._ Shepard would probably just blink and accept it as human nature, but Adams would find the idyllic humor in there somewhere. In some ways, he could be even funnier than Joker when he wasn't being professional.

The meeting closed later rather than sooner, and Flinn and Nenilin left for their hotels. Anderson waited until they'd rounded the corner before saying, "Well, sir, I think our meeting room is completely sanitary now."

Udina just shook his head and headed back to his office. Anderson followed, checking his watch. It was nearly eleven o'clock. "I'm going back to my apartment," he said.

"Report here at 0600."

That was it—no goodbyes, not even a look in his direction. Anderson remembered then why he was there, and realized that he didn't much care for Udina's attitude.

He hoped Shepard found Saren soon. He really did.


End file.
